Riding Iron by Jon M. Strother

We crouched at the edge of the woods, listening as much as watching for the train to pull out of the yard. At age thirteen we were old pros at hopping trains. This spot was good, about a half a mile out and around a slight bend. The trains were still going slow enough and it was out of sight of yard tower. My old man had told tales of what happens when train men catch a vagabond on their rails. We wanted no part of that.

He told other tales as well – how his Cousin had both legs cut off and bled to death when he fell beneath a moving boxcar. I figured he just told that story to scare me silly and keep me away from trains. Still, I avoided open boxcars.

Big Mike Zumblauski, or Z to us, kept an eye on the track from the edge of the woods while Randy Jones and I sat a little further back talking about Mary Beth Johnson. Randy said she liked me, but I couldn't see it. She picked on me mercilessly. “That's 'cause she likes you,” Randy insisted.

Z raised a hand and made a shushing sound. “Hear that?”

We paused, listening. Engines thrummed, building up momentum.

“It's coming,” Randy said.

We edged closer. Z had discovered the secret of where they stash the keys on the cars in the automobile carries. We were hoping for a Cadillac, or maybe an Explorer. We planned a quick ride, listening to the radio for a mile or so, then we'd abandon ship. It was all in the spirit of adventure.

The train rounded the bend, slowly building speed. It had three engines. We buried our faces to avoid being seen by the engineers. Once the engines were out of sight, due to the curve, we hurried to the tracks. Randy ran for a ladder right away, but Z grabbed him and hauled him in.

“We want a car-carrier,” he shouted over the rumble of the rails.

“We need to get on,” Randy argued, “before it gets too fast.”

Z looked at the passing cars – boxcars, a couple of hoppers, then a string of tankers. The train's speed steadily increased. Finally, he nodded. We all picked out a ladder and ran like hell.

Randy and I were content to stand on the bottom rungs of our ladders, but Z climbed all the way up, disappearing onto the roof of our boxcar. Randy shot me a worried look from his adjacent car, and kept glancing down at the ground which passed beneath us at an ever increasing rate.

Z stuck his head over the edge of the roof and shouted down. “Guys! There is a car-carrier just two cars behind us!”

Randy shook his head, no. “We need to get off. It's going too fast already.”

“Come on,” Z pleaded. “It's what we came for.”

“We can try again tomorrow,” Randy shouted up. “We need to jump. Now!” Without another word Randy jumped. I watched wide eyed as he hit the ground running, but his momentum was more than his feet could keep up with. I saw him tumble head over heels out of sight down the railway embankment.

Z leaned out, staring after him, then relaxed and shouted down to me, “I saw him get up. He's OK.”

I looked down at the basalt flying by below me and realized it was too late. Jumping now would probably be fatal. Oh God, my old man would kill me.

“Come on!” Z urged me. “It's just two cars behind.”

I couldn't very well cling to the side of the boxcar forever, so I began climbing up that ladder, one forced rung at a time. It took all of my will power and all of Mike's persuasive skills to get me atop that boxcar. Once there I froze with fear. One close brush with an overpass convinced me to get a move on.

The car directly behind us was an open and empty hopper. At least in there we would not be creamed by an overhead I-beam. Z scrambled down the ladder and hopped from one car to the next as if it were nothing. I was barely able to creep down after him.

Mike shifted to the side ladder and beckoned me over. Faced with the chasm between the two cars I once again froze. It took a long time for me to work up my nerve before I finally reached out toward the hopper.

Big Z grabbed me by the wrist. I tried to pull away but he would not let go. “We have to get in the hopper.” Mike locked eyes with me. “We'll get hypothermia hanging out here, and...” he looked down. I understood. There was no choice. I let him guide my hand until my fingers wrapped in a death grip around a rung on the hopper's ladder. Then I forced a leg out and put my foot on the hopper's lower rung. Once over we both climbed up and into the hopper. We slid down the sloped side to a gravel strewn flat bottom. For the first time in probably an hour I felt somewhat safe.

Mike went to investigate the back side of the hopper, still intent on the car carrier. I simply huddled where I lay. Every muscle was trembling. Eventually I realized Mike was back. He squatted wordlessly near my head for some time before he finally spoke.

“I guess we'll have to hunker down here,” he said. Then he did something extraordinary, particularly considering we were thirteen-year-old boys. He laid down and huddled up against me to keep me warm.

The train finally stopped well after dark at the edge of a small town in the middle of nowhere.

We clambered out, then stumbled into the waiting woods. “How are we going to get home?” I asked.

Mike gazed off in the direction of town. “I can see a McD's from here,” he said. “You can just go over there, get some eats, and call home.”

I moaned. “My old man is going to kill me.”

“Just wait until after I'm gone.”

I looked up at him with a start. “What!”

“You say that all the time – your old man is going to kill you. But mine probably will.” He gazed at the train. We all knew Mike's dad beat the hell out of him when he was mad. “Sometimes he just can't stop.” He shook his head. “I never done anything this bad before, Jack, and there ain't no way I'm going home to that.”

I pleaded with him to go over to McD's with me, but his mind was made up. We waited for what seemed forever before the freight cars clattering to life again. “Tell them I hitched a ride on the highway,” Mike said as he stood up. I pleaded one last time, then watched as Big Z lopped over to the auto-carrier, grabbed the ladder and hoisted himself up.

“Sweet!” I heard him shout. “Hummers!”

I never saw Mike again.
~
© 2011 by J. M. Strother